


But Not Forgotten

by inkedinserendipity



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Coda to MAG 170, Emotionally Challenging Gift-Giving, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, They Are In An Apocalypse: Jon Has Accepted This But Martin Refuses To Give Up Hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24581536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkedinserendipity/pseuds/inkedinserendipity
Summary: Martin turns it on. There’s a moment of silence: the almost-comforting whir of a recorder, then a familiar throat, cleared. A small, helpless smile curls across his lips, and he cradles the recorder in his hands, feeling lucky.“I would call this a statement,”Jon’s voice says, perfectly dry,“but it’s not. Not really. Statements are…are snippets of fear. This is anything but.”There is another pause. That rhythmic whir returns, and Martin’s eyes close gently, letting Jon’s voice wrap around him.“I love you,”Jon says, and Martin’s smile grows.“Silly, I suppose, to make such a big deal out of a simple statement. Something you already know.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 14
Kudos: 175





	But Not Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Man, MAG 170 got me. Harder than any other episode, I think. I started thinking about what Jon could give Martin in case something like that ever happened again. Went through physical objects, but there's not a whole lot Jon would take with him during the apocalypse, would he? Then this idea struck me, wrote it all in one go, and well...here we are!  
> Enjoy.

Martin glances behind them only once, as they leave the Lonely behind. Jon, hand held tight in Martin’s, never wavers his gaze from the horizon. 

Martin never saw the Moorland House, not even while part of the Lonely, but in this changed world he has no doubt that he was, only minutes ago, within its walls. Strange; he has no recollection of stepping through its doors.

* * *

The hill they come upon is Desolation-marked and smells of charred life, but Martin is exhausted enough that he calls a halt there. He doesn’t expect to sleep–he doesn’t need to, here–but Jon must anticipate it, because as Martin curls up beneath his single blanket Jon sits beside him, brushes Martin’s hair from his face with gentle fingers, and begins a vigil that keeps Martin safe as he sleeps. 

* * *

When Martin wakes up the next morning, Jon is sat on the little hill they’ve found, fire-scorched and still smoldering though it is, back to Martin’s form and eyes alert. Sleep is hardly more peaceful than waking in this fear-rent world, but after the Lonely his exhaustion had crashed over his shoulders, and if he dreamed he doesn’t remember. 

Jon turns when he sits up and smiles, small and private. “Good morning,” he says, even though it isn’t. 

Martin, unbearably fond, chuckles. “Not technically,” he points out, teasing Jon, “but good morning anyway.” 

Martin rolls up the blanket and sleeping bag he stole from Daisy, carefully tucking the torn edges into the wrapping that is always too small for its bulk, secures it to his bag gain. Then, packed, he sits by Jon. There is no sunrise in the changed world, but from the top of the hill Martin can see over a vast landscape: dotted with domains and fear, yes, but closer to their goal than they’ve ever been. 

“Martin,” Jon starts, and Martin looks at him, because Jon’s voice is uncertain and quiet. He trails off, running his fingers through the cracks in the scorched earth, and doesn’t say anything else. 

“Jon?” 

“I want you to have this,” Jon says, not meeting Martin’s gaze, and pulls a tape recorder from one of his pockets. “Don’t–don’t listen to it now. And I know we’re gone from the Lonely, or rather that you are, but I want you to have it anyway.” 

“Jon….”

“I know,” Jon says. “Lowercase–lowercase K know, anyway, that you won’t forget me. I know. I just want you to have it.” 

“I love you, Jon.” 

“I know.” Jon takes a deep breath, and turns another small smile toward Martin, uncertainty gone from his voice but lingering still in his eyes. “Take it. Please.”

Martin does. “What’s this then? A mission brief? A record of Scotland?” 

He’s mostly joking, but Jon shakes his head. “Nothing…nothing like that.” 

“That’s vague.” 

Jon laughs, a little _heh_ that’s nothing more than an accented exhale. “Yes, it’s a specialty of mine. I’m sure you’ve noticed.” 

Martin looks at it. Seems perfectly ordinary. But in the context of the Lonely, and his forgetting…. “This is something for me to remember you by, isn’t it? In case something like that happens again?” 

Jon shrugs. “Sort of.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“Tell me?” 

All of Jon hesitates: his shoulders raise a fraction, his lips pull a quick breath through his teeth, his arms wrap tight around his legs. “You’ll know,” Jon says. “When you listen. If–if you ever do.”

“There a circumstance I should be waiting for? For the Lonely to get me again?” 

“God no,” Jon breathes. “No, I don’t think the Lonely will get you again. Just…keep it. That’s all I can ask.” 

Martin turns it over in his hands. It looks and feels as any other tape recorder: a small metal box, two grooved gears like eyes, slightly heavier than it should be for its size, as if its words carry just as much weight as metal. He tucks it in his own pocket without a word, and Jon smiles, and looks back to the horizon.

* * *

That afternoon Jon scouts ahead, seeking out their path–something about it getting twisted up in the Spiral–and as he waits in a shaded refuge, Martin’s mind wanders to the recorder. He’s undeniably curious. And Jon hadn’t specified when he should listen, just asked him to keep it on his person. _In case_. In case of what, well, Martin’s not sure. 

He pulls it out, turns it over in his fingers. He has a few more minutes before Jon comes back, he thinks. He has time. 

He turns it on. There’s a moment of silence: the almost-comforting whir of a recorder, then a familiar throat, cleared. A small, helpless smile curls across his lips, and he cradles the recorder in his hands, feeling lucky. 

“ _I would call this a statement,”_ Jon’s voice says, perfectly dry, “ _but it’s not. Not really. Statements are…are snippets of fear. This is anything but.”_

There is another pause. That rhythmic whir returns, and Martin’s eyes close gently, letting Jon’s voice wrap around him. _“I love you,”_ Jon says, and Martin’s smile grows. _“Silly, I suppose, to make such a big deal out of a simple statement. Something you already know.”_ Jon clears his throat. _“But this–this is just in case. After all, we are trying to save the world.”_

Martin’s eyes open, the fear–fear of failure, fear of a changed world, fear of a world without Jon–warring with his swelling affection at Jon’s stumbling confessions, immortalized now in tape. 

Another long pause. Martin can picture it: Jon’s brows furrowed, head tilted as he fights for words. Martin takes a moment to survey the horizon, but he doesn’t see Jon approaching, and he leans back on his hands, waiting as patient as ever. 

_“You know, when I first started recording these–or, well, carrying them with me–it was because I didn’t want to be forgotten. I wanted my life to be a warning for others, perhaps, or maybe I simply didn’t want to be erased. I was so worried about what everyone thought, Martin. I was so scared, even when I’d just begun at the Archives. I hadn’t realized that, well, that wasn’t what matters. It never was._

_“I don’t believe you’ll forget me again. You’ve disavowed the Lonely, Martin, and that means something. Even to the Fears, that means something. Rest assured, this isn’t a safety measure. I suppose it’s just a momento. A…token, or a talisman, or maybe simply a memory made tangible.  
_

_“Because I don’t want this to ever be something forgotten, Martin. I love you, and I have for a long time, and whatever comes, that will not change.”  
_

Martin’s jaw starts to ache. There is no jolt of surprise when he raises a hand to his cheeks to find that they are wet. 

_“I should say why I’m recording this, I suppose. The truth is that I don’t know. It’s strange, to not know, but true regardless.”_ On the tape, Jon lets out a quiet breath. _“In part it’s for you. You deserve to be loved, Martin, and to know it. To be reminded, I suppose. But that’s not all. I….”_

“Jon,” Martin breathes into the silence. He can nearly picture it: Jon, guarding him as he slept, his worry and fear melting into affection, pouring it into a record. For Martin. Because Jon loves him. “I do. I know.” 

_“Someone will have to pay this debt,”_ Jon says, voice softer now, as if by speaking more quietly he can keep Martin from hearing his voice. _“Someone will have to pay to un-change the world. And I will not let it be you, Martin. I refuse. You deserve…more than that. You deserve everything.”_ The tape recorder breathes another of Jon’s quiet _heh_ s, and Martin’s face crumples. _“So I suppose that is why, then. So that you will have a physical memento of me, and how much I love you, Martin, when–if I do not come back._

 _“I love you, Martin,”_ Jon says, voice breaking, and Martin is curled around the recorder now, tears coming in earnest. _“And I will love you until the end. And if I had–if I have the chance, I will love you even after. For as long as I can.”_

* * *

Jon returns maybe half an hour later, eyes glinting. “We’re clear,” he tells the top of their scorched hill, hefting his pack. He seems energized. “I believe the next stop will actually be the Spiral. Maybe we’ll even see your favorite Distortion, wouldn’t that be something.” 

“Jon.” 

“Hm?” Jon looks over, and takes a sharp breath, and Martin hears his pack hit the earth. “Oh, Martin. You listened.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t mean–” Jon sits by Martin, hand hovering awkwardly over Martin’s shoulder. “I hadn’t meant you to listen yet.” 

“You didn’t exactly tell me that, Jon.” 

“I thought it was sort of implied?” Martin looks at him, and Jon’s hand steadies, cups his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“You’re right,” Jon admits, turning to face Martin more fully. “I’m not. I don’t regret recording it.”

“You’re not going to die, Jon.” 

“Mm,” Jon hums, his fingers anchoring along Martin’s hairline as his thumbs trace Martin’s cheeks, so careful, always gentle. “Maybe not.” 

“You seem to have already made up your mind!”

“I should’ve put a conditional on listening to that one,” Jon mutters with a sigh. “That’s not a goodbye note, Martin. It’s a…a just-in-case. I don’t know what will happen. Neither do you. And if something happens to me, I just want you to…to know. To have this reminder.” 

“I’d much rather have you,” Martin snaps. “Not some recording, Jon, I don’t want a _tape recorder_ , I want–I just want….”

“I know,” Jon says, impossibly soft, hands falling to take Martin’s in a tender curl. “I’d rather that too. But I think we both know what sort of story this is, and I’d rather take the precaution while I can.” 

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Right,” Jon murmurs. “I won’t. I’m sorry.” 

“I mean it, Jon,” Martin says, fully aware that he’s threatening the most powerful person in possibly the entire world and utterly unafraid. “Don’t do anything stupid because you think it’s your _destiny_ or something.” 

“I won’t.” 

Martin’s wrists begin to twinge with how tight he’s holding Jon’s hands. “Promise me.” 

Jon huffs, a little _heh,_ warm and familiar. He presses his forehead to Martin’s. “I promise,” he swears, and adds, easy as breathing, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Martin says, eyes squeezing shut, every muscle in his body tight with fear and _love_ , burning and bright. “Just be _okay_ , all right? I don’t want to ever have to listen to this again.”

“I hope you don’t.” Jon lets go of Martin’s hands to pull him close, and Martin buries his face in Jon’s shoulder. “I just–I won’t let you forget. You’re loved, Martin. I love you so much. And even after–”

“ _Jon–”_ Martin warns.

“And even after this,” Jon interrupts, determined, “that won’t change. No matter what happens. Even if I’m not with you.” 

“Don’t say that. Do not say that, Jon.” 

“Right. I’m sorry.”

“You’ll make it,” Martin insists. “We both will.” 

“Right,” Jon says softly. “We’ll make it.” 

“We will,” Martin says again, a plea, a prayer, a promise. He’ll do whatever he must to make it true. “We will.” 

He’s not an idiot. He knows what kind of story they’re in. He knows how this is likely to end. 

But he will not accept it. They’ll both make it. Martin won’t allow anything else. 

Jon raises their joined hands. His lips press butterfly-soft to the back, a fond smile crinkling his eyes, and Martin lets out a laugh that is closer to a sob, and pulls Jon close once more. 

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on tumblr at [inkedinserendipity](http://inkedinserendipity.tumblr.com)!


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